


Bad Jokes and Poetry

by NikaAnuk



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Poetry, Roommates, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 09:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13901373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikaAnuk/pseuds/NikaAnuk
Summary: Charles is wounded, Erik takes care of him. Can there be a better time to love confessions?





	Bad Jokes and Poetry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nalou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalou/gifts).



> Just a short think I wrote for Nalou to her Hurt/Comfort Roommates AU. 
> 
> And I really wanted to use Abu Nuwas' poetry somewhere!
> 
> And now it is beta-read!!! Thank you whatdoyoumean for your help with it!

“What is blue and smells like red paint?” Erik asks from the kitchen.

And if Charles has to hear one more bad joke, he may just kill himself, even with a broken arm and crushed ribs. Who cares. Anything but this. 

 

“Blue paint,” the answer comes from the kitchen, not even a shadow of amusement in Erik's voice.

So it is not like Erik has a terrible sense of humour. Though he definitely has a different one.

“What would happen if you threw blue sneakers into the Red Sea?” there goes another question.

And where does Erik even get the terrible jokes from? Are they stored somewhere in his head? Is there any place on Internet where things like that are hidden?

Charles groans and calls, before Erik can answer.

“Erik!”

And Erik shows up in the doorway to their tiny kitchen. He is wearing a dark blue apron over his trousers and chequered shirt, and he is holding a bowl. Uncharacteristically, Erik doesn't look dangerous or solemn. He looks concerned.

Ever since the morning, when the the game had been stopped as a result of the fight, he seemed uneasy. First Erik went with Charles to the hospital, and then returned with him to their dorm, made him comfortable on the couch and left – despite Charles' protests – for shopping.

Erik doesn't usually cook. And doesn't usually stay home, especially on Thursday, when he and his friends meet to read some revolutionary poetry, which Charles can't understand.

But this time Erik is here, cooking, making sure Charles has everything he needs, and... Good God, telling the worst jokes in the universe.

Charles tries to get up. The sudden, sharp pain in his side makes him gasp. He clenches fingers on the back of the couch, tears in his eyes. Erik is at his side in a second, leaning over him, easing him back on the couch.

“What is this? Can I help you?” he asks, his voice worried.

Charles looks up at him, Erik is very close, he smells like cooking, he is worried, so worried, his eyes are worried, the line of his mouth is very thin.

Charles opens his mouth to answer, but can only stare at Erik. And Erik stares at him; he doesn't repeat the question. Whatever there is that stops Charles, it seems like the same thing stops Erik.

And then, after a long time, ages maybe, Erik lowers his head and kisses Charles gently. His lips are still swollen after the fight on the field earlier, a slight taste of copper on Erik's tongue, when he licks Charles' bottom lip.

And as suddenly as he starts, he pauses, as if scared of what he did. Charles can see his eyes growing wide, and pulls Erik closer, before he can move away. He kisses him again, this time more firmly. Erik rests his hand on Charles' cheek, brushing off a tear.

Charles makes a noise and Erik parts from him, to check on him.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks.

“No,” Charles shakes his head. He smiles at the focused expression on his face and licks his lips; Erik's eyes follows the movement. “Just please...” he says and licks his lips again. “Don't tell any more jokes, okay?”

Erik raises his eyebrows. “Why? I need to keep you distracted from the pain.”

“But they are terrible...”

“I thought you people like things like that...” Erik says, looking positively confused.

Charles grins and shakes his head, wincing when it hurts.

“I will get you something to drink,” Erik says quickly and then goes back to the kitchen.

After a moment Charles can hear him talking again, but this time it's not joke, it's poetry. Charles doesn't know this poem, but decides he likes it.

“I've lost my heart to a wondrous gazelle-

A graceful stripling, and cultured as well:

When music is played, he falls under its spell.

My eyes are slaves of his stunning physique;

His lithe, supple beauty leaves me utterly weak.

And his ass! And his cock! Above floats the moon!

From his cheeks flow beauties to make men swoon.

(…)” [ 1 ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13901373#sdfootnote1sym)

LLE, 03-07-2018

[1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13901373#sdfootnote1anc) _Rapture_ by Abu Nuwas; in Carousing with Gazelles, translated by Jaafar Abu Tarab

  
  



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